


The Connection

by Lusciousinpain



Series: Hot Spies In Love [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mutal Pining, Spies, mentions of self harm, past trauma, toture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: And sure, Dean knows he's good enough for a quick fuck (in a public bathroom, the backseat of a car, in a dingy motel room) but not for something real, something serious, something that would last.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And sure, Dean knows he's good enough for a quick fuck (in a public bathroom, the backseat of a car, in a dingy motel room) but not for something real, something serious, something that would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit more plot for you to chew on. I had every intention of heading right to the sex, but Dean was in a really dark head-space (and only gonna get darker) and there were still a few scenes to run through before we could get to the sexy times. Hope it satisfies.

Present day

It's 2am 

Dean shivers in the dark, reaches for his blanket then laughs; it's on the floor, along with his pillow. "Figures." He mutters, but he doesn't bother reaching for it, he'll just kick it off again. 

He's been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, and despite the fact that he hasn't slept (at all) in the past three days, sleep eludes him. But Dean doesn't stop to wonder why. He knows the reason for his insomnia.

_Castiel_

Dean misses the assassin, there's no denying it. "Cas..." He sighs, a melancholy exhale felt from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

But he needs to get over it, and fast.

"I'm fucking pathetic." He grumbles, bemoaning the fact that he's falling apart over a man he just met. But it can't be helped. And as shitty as that may be, worse would be the disapproving scowl on Sam's face (all pinched and holier–than-thou) and the look of sheer horror on Bobby's, if either were to learn the extent of his feelings for Castiel; they'd never let him live it down.

But if they do, so what? It's not like Castiel wants Dean in return. Dean's damaged goods, after all, Alistair made sure of that. And sure, Dean knows he's good enough for a quick fuck (in a public bathroom, the backseat of a car, in a dingy motel room) but not for something real, something serious, something that would last. 

Dean bites back a sob, reaches over the bed's edge to grab his pillow, and screams into it. The pillow muffles his cries nicely, and that's a good thing. Not because he doesn't want his brother to know what he's going through, but because Sam would just worry needlessly. His obsession with Alistair was bad enough the first time around, and right now, Dean doesn't need the added stress.

When he's all screamed out, Dean rubs roughly at his face and let's loose a deep whoosh of air. He feels like...well, he's not sure how he feels. He supposes he should feel happy, or at least relieved that Alistair is finally dead. And Dean wants to, needs to, but he doesn't. Instead, Dean feels...nothing, and isn't that ironic?

He laughs at that - a hysterical little giggle that would be unnerving, if it wasn't so tragic. But he's out of his mind with self-loathing and in a fit of despair, Dean reasons that if he's so damn eager to feel something, then he could start by cutting open a vein. Or better yet, running a sharp blade over one of Alastair's marks, slice through the scar-tissue until it's deep enough for his pain, his pent up rage, and his crippling shame, to finally escape. 

Dean spends the next several seconds screaming into his pillow.

...

Dean feels marginally better after his meltdown, not by much, but at least now he's able to focus. So with laptop in hand, he opens file after file on the Milton case, peruses and loosely skims over every note, document, and interview, that mentions the Crowley name. But after an hour of scrolling through hundreds of photographs, notes from Bobby, interviews with Michael and Lucifer, and recalling every painful (and delicious) encounter with Castiel, Dean still can't figure out where Crowley fits in.

He's the key to this whole mess, at least according to Bobby - the common factor that connects every player on the board. But proving his direct involvement, will be hard as fuck. And yet, that's Dean's goal: to prove Crowley was behind every crooked deal and murderous rampage within the last twenty years. But more importantly (and on a more personal level) to prove to Sam that Castiel has been working for their side, this entire time.

But where to start? 

Well, for one thing, Crowley is a soldier for the Milton family. Granted, a high level one, but still an underling operating under their protection. 'An entitled nobody with a little bit of clout', was how Michael Milton put it during one of their interviews.

But Bobby didn't buy it and neither did Sam; they were convinced Michael wasn't telling them the entire truth. As far as they were concerned, Michael's assertions that he was still 'top boss' to the other crime families, and wasn't currently being usurped by a traitorous operative, was his way of trying to save face.

His bother, Lucifer, was even less helpful. He'd just sit silently during their interrogations and observe and regard everyone with a cool detachment. Except for Sam. No, whenever he and Sam were in the same room, Lucifer would focus solely on him. It was incredibly frustrating for the other agents, to say the least. But to make matters worse, instead of answering Bobby's questions with straight forward answers, Lucifer would provoke Sam, tease and needle the young agent by insisting that if he really, really, wanted to (and Sam really, really, wanted to) know all of the answers to all of Bobby's questions, then he could just figure them all out on his own.

Lucifer's taunts intrigued Sam, as much as his surreptitious winks and all knowing smiles unbalanced him. But nevertheless, Sam accepted the challenge, while doing his best to disguise his growing discomfort and quell his burgeoning feelings for the admittedly charming psychopath. 

Dean noted the various exchanges, but never commented (as much as he'd like to wring Lucifer's neck for making eyes at his brother) he had his own psycho killer to deal with. Still, their meetings weren't a complete waste of time. Somehow, between Michael's denials and Lucifer's silence, Bobby managed to get enough information to conclude that it was actually Rowena Crowley, Crowley's mother, that masterminded the entire Las Vegas massacre. 

To Dean it made perfect sense; Rowena is a woman notorious for her lack of scruples, penchant for cruelty, and also heads a coven. A witch's coven, for chrissakes! And it's _that_ disassociation from reality (because seriously, witches?) that makes her, in Dean's book, the most dangerous member of the Crowley team.

But that still leaves him with Crowley.

Dean wracks his brain for an answer, but comes up short. It's frustrating as fuck, but that's the challenge, isn't it? To not only figure out Crowley's role in this case, but also what caused Castiel to double-cross his own family and become an informant for the FBI. Dean doesn't see it yet, but he knows he will. .

...

It's 3am

Working up a good sweat has always helped Dean combat his insomnia. And with sleep no longer an option, he throws on a pair of sweats and heads out for a run. 

...

The steady thumping of his sneaker-clad feet do a brilliant job of clearing his mind, and soon, Dean finds it easier to focus. 

He starts by taking on the daunting task of sorting through years of information that have bottlenecked in his subconscious. From his mother's death, to his father's downward spiral. Yeah, those years sucked, but then John's partner, Bobby, had 'words' with their father, and life sucked substantially less. Watching John Winchester's life turn around because of Bobby and the FBI, inspired both Dean and Sam enough to follow in their father's footsteps. So they joined the agency, and everything went pretty well for pretty long. But then their father was found dead (a self-inflicted gunshot to the head) and Sam and Dean (Bobby too) called bullshit. Their father was a driven man, obsessed with finding his wife's killer, but nevertheless, devoted to his sons. 

He would not have committed suicide.

But that was years ago, and as far as Dean knows, John's death had nothing to do with Crowley, or the Milton family and this case, for that matter. So Dean files that painful memory away, relieved he didn't have to delve to deeply into that hornet's nest of pain and trauma. At least for the time being.

And then there's the week he spent in hell, tied up and locked away in Alistair's den. Dean would love nothing more than to bury that shit deep, deep, down, but there's no way he can think about Castiel (the last piece of the puzzle) without also recalling the night he slit Alistair's throat. It was a thing of beauty, and even though he's short of breath, Dean can't help but chuckle at the irony; Castiel's vicious precision would have impressed even someone as exacting in their 'craft', as Alistair. 

... 

It's nearly forty five minutes later, and Dean starts heading back. He's managed to work through some of the questions that have been plaguing him, and thinks he finally understands Crowley's role in their lives. But in order to help him prove his theory, he'll need Sam's excellent research skills. But to get Sam's help, Dean will have to feed him more information. 

Dean is naturally reluctant; the confessions Castiel made at the bar and the secrets he shared while in Dean's arms, are no one else's business. But does that mean Dean will withhold information from his own brother? That he will forsake his oath and give up everything he's worked so hard for because of the feelings he's developed for a lying, two-faced, killer?

The short answer is, yes. Yes, a thousand times, yes. Dean would willingly lose everything, if it meant keeping Castiel safe. He just hopes Sam will forgive him.

...

Dean uses the time it takes to run back to his house to rehearse what he's going to tell Sam in the morning. It's far from everything Sam wants to know, but Dean hopes it will be enough. 

It has to be. 

And with that goal in mind, Dean rounds the corner to his block, wipes the dripping sweat from his brow, fishes for his house keys, then stumbles when someone grabs him from behind, covers his nose and mouth with a damp cloth, and then everything fades to back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam really does feel good; it seems that finding out his mother's killer, as well as his brother's torturer, met with an equally brutal death, makes him happy.

Sam wakes up feeling great. 

He slept well, really well, so well in-fact, he does something he hasn't done in a very long time; he goes out for a run. But unlike Dean, he doesn't end up thrown into the back of a van by a trio of hooded men.

Sam works up a terrific sweat and decides to reward himself with a well earned treat before heading home. So he dashes to his favorite coffee shop and orders a large box of pastries. They're also a peace offering, he genuinely feels bad for being so tough on Dean the night before, and figures an assortment of baked goods (along with an offer to help Castiel) will make up for it.

...

Sam's sniffs the air the second he walks through the front door, then frowns. _'No coffee brewing, no bacon sizzling, no bread in the toaster?'_ The absence of breakfast is strange (Dean doesn't usually sleep in) but they had a fight just few hours ago, so he doesn't worry about it too much. He figures his brother is still in bed, pouting, and waiting for an apology, and he chuckles; Dean can be so juvenile sometimes. But he'll play along for now. Heck, after pulling rank on Dean the way he did last night, it's the least he could do. So he puts the pastries in the kitchen and turns the coffee pot on. But before heading to Dean's room, Sam heads to the shower instead; if he's going to spend the rest of the morning apologizing, he wants to do it in fresh clothes.

...

"Mm..much better." Sam shuts off the hairdryer, runs some leave-in-conditioner through his long hair, and grins. He really does feel good; it seems that finding out his mother's killer, as well as his brother's torturer, met with an equally brutal death, makes him happy. So he takes his time storing away his toiletries and luxuriates in this new found peace. It's short lived, however, and all too soon Sam finds himself in front of Dean' door, calling out a fond, "Hey," before stumbling back and wishing he had his gun.

...

Yesterday morning

Just like the Winchesters, Castiel and Gabriel drove non-stop until they reached FBI headquarters. However, unlike the Winchesters, they had the foresight to phone their contact and ask that he meet with them, before seeing Sam and Dean.

Chief Singer agreed, and greeted them personally in the parking deck. From there he led them to a private office on a deserted floor, and listened patiently while Castiel and Gabriel explained in detail (for the most part) the events that lead to Alistair's death. 

Bobby didn't interrupt once, he glowered and harrumphed plenty, but let the Milton boys finish. They ended their brief debriefing by confessing Dean's involvement in Castiel's botched plan to lure Crowley out of hiding, and were met with stony silence. Castiel tried to break the tension by clarifying that he'd used Dean as an 'incentive' to Crowley, but swore that Dean was never in any real danger. 

Predictably, Chief Singer yelled.

"Boy, if it didn't blow your cover, I'd have you thrown in the nearest cell!" 

Castiel stood firm, accepted the tongue lashing, but held Bobby's gaze; he knew what he had done was risky, maybe even wrong, but they were running out of time, and he was getting desperate.

Luckily for him Bobby's phone beeped and cut him off mid-rant. Bobby read the text, typed in a quick reply, then muttered a curse. "And why in the hell did you kill Daemon? Huh? You were supposed to bring him in alive, damn it! And last time I checked, that was the opposite of dead!"

"Everything happened real fast." Gabriel supplied, eyes darting to his brother for cooberation. 

"You weren't even there." Countered Bobby, rounding on Castiel. "Talk."

"He recognized me, then attacked." Stated Castiel, grim but steely. "I had no choice but to...stop him. I couldn't risk him escaping."

"You mean you couldn't risk him escaping _you_ again."

Castiel's face froze, Gabriel gasped. 

Bobby exhaled, rubbed at his beard, "Listen, I know he got away from you the first time because you chose to save Dean instead of chasing after Daemon. So for that," Bobby shook his head, then added in a more subdued tone, "well, I'm grateful. And I guess I shoulda known there was no way you were going to let him live after what he did to Dean, and the other boys he killed after he got away-"

"There were eight more victims." 

Bobby nodded, searched Castiel's eyes, and knew right then and there, that Castiel did the right thing.

"Right." Bobby exhaled, exhausted. "Tell me about Meg." He said, pulling out a large folder from his satchel and placing it on his desk. "Where the hell is she?"

"Wow, that's a big folder, boss."

"Answer the damn question."

Castiel and Gabriel exchanged looks, then Gabriel dropped his eyes and Castiel confessed, "We don't know."

Bobby slammed his fist on the folder. Losing Meg was bad, and even though she was the one that initially alerted Sam to Dean's danger at the warehouse (but only because she was seeking immunity from the law and protection from her current bosses) she knew too much, and if she chose to betray them, the consequences would be devastating.

"This folder is about to get a hell of a lot bigger." He groused, not at all pleased by the prospect. "And you better have good news on Crowley, or there'll be hell to pay." 

...

Castiel wanted to head straight to the Winchester's house after Bobby dismissed them. But Gabriel had other plans.

"Are you nuts? You can't just show up unannounced? Dean will probably shoot you on the spot."

"No. Dean wouldn't, he and I share a...bond now. He'd be glad-"

Gabriel scoffed, "Glad to see you? Is that what you were going to say? Yeah, maybe before you kidnapped and tortured him."

"Dean knew about the plan. I explained-"

"You told him you were going to use him as bait and then beat the hell outta him? And he still went along with it?"

"I explained," Castiel repeated, jaw clenched, "how important it was that Meg believe I intended to kill him in order to gain our brothers' freedom. We had to make it look real. We had to make sure she took that information back to Crowley." 

"Hold on a second." Gabriel said, not completely convinced his brother's instincts were correct in Meg's case, "I'm the first one to say Meg is a no good double-crosser. Like, she sold us out to the FBI, for crying out loud!" He threw his arms up, huffed, then laughed. "But do you really believe she'd pick Team Crowley over Team Milton?"

"Yes." Castiel replied, without a bit of hesitation. He knew it was only a matter of time, or a matter of opportunity, before Meg turned on them in favor of their greatest enemy.

Gabriel reconsidered then nodded. "Okay." He said, then grinned, eyes sparkling with humor, "So is that why you went to Dean's motel room afterwards?" He asked, smile growing wider because he knew the answer. But he loved putting his brother on the spot. It was adorable. "To remind him that he had agreed to your plan?"

Castiel nodded again.

"So...if you only went there to talk, then why did I find your pants off?"

"I told you to wait in the car!"

"Hey, don't get angry at me." Gabriel laughed, "I stalled Sammy for as long as I could, okay. But when he told me he heard something in the other room and then hung-up on me, I had to come in."

Castiel exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, "Fine," he said, downcast, "have it your way. I won't go to Dean." 

Gabriel rolled his eyes but kept grinning, "Geesh, Cassie, don't look so freaking broken about it. Nobody said anything about _not_ going over to your boyfriend's place. I just think it would be a good idea to check into a hotel first and get cleaned up." He sniffed the air, grimaced, "'Cause seriously bro, you stink."

...

They waited until morning to go visit the Winchesters. Castiel was practically vibrating, he was so nervous.

"I don't think you need anymore more cologne."

"Sure I do." Gabriel countered, spritzing himself freely with an exceptionally expensive cologne. "Sammy loves the way I smell."

Castiel snorted, but then grabbed his keys, and headed out the door. 

He was done waiting.

…

Now

"Get away from my brother!" Sam roars, charging into the room and punching Castel on the jaw.

"Sam, no!" 

Sam spins in place, staggers, and falls into Gabriel's open arms. "Gabe, what the hell?"

Gabriel wraps his arms loosely around Sam's waist, grins, "Sammy, it's not what it looks like."

But Sam just looks at Gabriel as if he's lost his mind, pushes him off, then turns on Castiel. "What have you done with Dean?" He asks, grabbing Castiel by the shirt front and lifting off his feet. "What did you do with my brother?"

"Sammy, we don't know-"

"You have him tied up somewhere, you sick sonofabitch, admit it!" 

"I don't know where Dean is." Castiel states, sympathetic with Sam - he's desperate to get Dean back, as well, but he has his limits. "But I can find him."

Sam snorts, scoffs, "Of course you can find him. That's because he's locked up where you left him."

"No, that's not-"

"You're no better than your psychopathic brothers!" Shouts Sam, chest heaving, shaking Castiel. "What you did to Dean...kidnapping then torturing him...you, you're no better than Alistair-" 

Castiel has heard enough. He breaks free from Sam's grip and pushes him off, but he doesn't hurt him. "You're wrong." Is all Castiel says, slamming a crumpled note against Sam's chest. 

Sam reads the note, once, twice, crushes it in his fist, and throws it back at Castiel. "This is all your fault!" 

Gabriel steps between the two fuming men, picks up the note, reads it then huffs. "Hmpht," he snorts, "what do you know?" He looks at Castiel, grins, "Your plan worked, after all."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The image is obscene, the things Dean and Alistair are doing to each other are beyond lewd. But nevertheless, Dean valiantly reins in his emotions, while his insides curdle.

It's 7am:

Dean wakes feeling groggy, head pounding and it hurts to breathe (probably from a bruised rib or two) and he's tied to a chair. Big surprise there. 

_'Damn it, Cas, not again.'_

It's the first thing that comes to mind; Castiel's original plan failed, and as a result, he's kidnapped Dean. Again. But unlike the first time, Dean wasn't warned about this attempt.

"Fucking spies." He mutters, but with no real heat; despite everything that has happened between them since they first met, Dean trusts Castiel and knows that if he had to go to _this_ extreme, then it was for a damn good reason. 

But just in case Castiel isn't behind this abduction, and no one in fact is coming to his rescue, then Dean better fiind a way to save his own sorry ass.

He begins by checking his surroundings: twisting and craning his neck to search the ceiling, the floor, notes that there's only one door, no windows (except for a vent with some light filtering through) and no furniture. Well, except for the chair he's tied to, another one propped up against a far wall, and what looks like electrical lockers lining the other wall. But other than that, the small room is empty and Sam is nowhere in sight. _'Thank fuck.'_

But that doesn't mean he's not tied-up somewhere else. 

So with that thoroughly sobering thought at the forefront of his crumbling sanity, Dean tests the ropes that bind him (there's zero give) then tries to find a way to break free. That's when the door swings open.

"Hello Mr. Winchester."

Dean recognizes that voice, but from where? Then he hears it, the distinct click, click, click, of high heeled shoes.

_'Okay, so it's not Cas.'_

He's disappointed his kidnapper isn't Castiel - Dean will analyze what that says about his depth of feelings for the assassin, later, preferably when his life isn't in immediate danger - but for now, he needs to remember who the hell this is, and figure out what the hell they want. 

"May I call you Dean?" The newcomer asks, infuriatingly polite, smiling as if she meant him no harm. But Dean isn't fooled, he remembers where he's seen her before and knows that behind this woman's delicate frame and harmless facade, lies the soul of a cold blooded killer.

Dean replies to her greeting with a sharp nod, meets her open smile with a cheeky grin of his own, and drawls, "Dean is just fine, darlin. And you are?" 

The woman laughs, it's soft and feminine: terrifying. "Oh Dean, don't be coy. You know perfectly well who I am."

Dean does, but plays dumb; he's not giving anything away. 

"Well," she sighs, disappointed, "I suppose I can forgive you for not remembering me. After all, we were never officially introduced. I'm Mrs. Rowena Crowley." She bends at the waist, looks him in the eye, and says softly, "But please, call me Rowena."

Dean nods, "Okay. Nice to meetcha...Rowena."

Rowena quirks a brow, takes a step back and studies Dean. "Dean, you hurt my feelings. Is that any way to greet an old, old, family friend?" 

That makes Dean laugh. "Lady," he sneers, pulling on his restraints, "I don't know what you've been smoking, but I'm pretty sure I would've remembered meeting you before."

Rowena laughs as well, then chastises, "Trust me, you did. Although, you were but a wee lad when your father first brought you and your baby brother to my house."

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

Rowena tuts, 'You really don't remember?" Then shrugs, exhaling, "Well, no matter. I won't take it personally. I would have blocked memories from those days too, if I had seen my daddy do the things yours did." 

Dean opens his mouth to argue, to tell her that's she's nuts (or least, to fuck off) but then a flash of red crosses his mind, followed by his father firing a gun, and then screaming, horrible, agonized, screaming, and for the first time since he was strapped to Alistair's rack, Dean feels real fear. "You're lying..."

"Oh my dear boy." Rowena hisses, serpentine and wiley, "You know I'm not."

...

Knowing the electronic lock's combination made it surprisingly easy to break into the Carnival. 

"That's where they have him?" Sam whispers, body crouched behind a row of neatly manicured shrubbery.

Gabriel nods beside him, says, "Yup." Then reads the text he'd received earlier. "He's in the Ferris wheel maintenance shed. You owe me."

Sam's frown deepens, full of doubt, while Castiel, crouched next to him, stares at the shed with no expression at all. 

"And you trust that information?" Sam asks, not convinced Gabriel's source is reliable. "Who sent it to you again?" 

"One of Rowen's witches." 

Sam's brows shoot up; he can't believe what he's hearing. "You're source works for Crowley?" 

Gabriel shrugs, "Yeah, but hey, Ruby ain't all that bad. Sure she's bitter, vindictive and can never be trusted, but she really hates Rowena and her son. And," he stresses, hoping he's getting through to Sam, "really eager to help us out."

Castiel turns a sharp eye on his brother, hisses, "Did you say Ruby? As in, Luke's ex-fiancé?"

"That's the one." Winks Gabriel. 

"Then she may be leading us into a trap."

"N'ah." Gabriel huffs, dismissing his brother's concern with a casual wave of his hand. "She's practically family. Plus, Luke liked her...once. So there's that."

"Not the best endorsement."

Sam face-palms, mutters, "We're all going to die." Then turns to Castiel, and with an accusatory tone, says, "You said you could find Dean. If that's the case, then we don't need this witch's information."

Castiel takes a deep breath and tells Sam the last thing he wants to hear. "The witch's information is correct, Sam. I know it is. Dean is here." 

"But how?" Sam demands to know, matching Castiel's icy gaze with a heated one of his own. "For all we know Dean is somewhere else. Probably hurt, or being tortured...how can you be sure-"

"Because," Castiel cuts in, sounding sharper than he intended, but it can't be helped, he's sick with worry over Dean. " _that_ shed is where Crowley prefers his prisoners to be 'questioned'." 

"And you know this how?"

"Because it's where I held many of my interrogations." Castiel points to the large body of water past the line of trees, confesses, "And that lake is where I disposed of the bodies." 

"You sick son of a bitch!" Sam grits, grabbing Castiel by the shirt front and hauling him to his feet. "So that's it then, huh? Dean is as good as dead."

Castiel doesn't flinch or show fear, if anything, he's impressed with Sam's vehemence. "Only if he refuses to cooperate." 

"I can't believe...what?" Sam can't understand how Castiel could be so calm when his brother is about to be murdered; he knows Dean will never cooperate. 

Sam looks over his shoulder, grip tightening on Castiel's collar, and asks Gabriel, "Tell me there's a plan B."

"B?" Gabriel parrots, shaking his head. "Sorry, babe. But ah," he points at Castiel, winces as if bracing for impact, and says, "maybe you should let go of the professional assassin before he-"

"Before he what?" Sam fires back, teeth bared, "What's the worse he can do to me?"

"Well," Gabriel exhales, reaching out to gently pry Sam's fingers open, "for starters, he can break your wrists-"

"Shut up Gabriel." Castiel swats Gabriel's hands away, then loosely wraps his own fingers around Sam's forearms. "Sam, Dean is going to be fine. I swear it."

Sam nods and for no tangible reason, believes Castiel. "Yeah...okay." He says, dropping his arms then falling back into a crouch.

He's joined by Castiel a second later, and then Gabriel. All three men quickly formulate a plan, it's impulsive and incredibly risky, but for the first time since he discovered his brother missing, Sam feels hope, and relief, but more importantly, he believes Castiel will do whatever it takes to keep Dean from certain death. 

...

"What the hell do you want?" 

"What do I want?" Rowena laughs, turning on her heel and walking to the door. "I want answers, Dean." She opens the door, and standing there are two very attractive women - probably witches from her coven, a redhead and a brunette - but only the brunette steps inside. "Take your places." She orders.

The redhead closes the door, while the brunette places the chair from the far wall next to Dean's, and Rowena takes it, "Now, where were we? Oh yes." Rowena says, snapping her fingers. "I want answers, Dean. And I promise," she lies, "if you are forthright, you will be allowed to leave." 

Dean stares dagger at the witch, but offers nothing in return.

"Come now, Dean, as a friend, please enlighten me as to how you, of all people, managed to catch and kill, my darling nephew, Alistair?" 

Just the mere mention of Alistair's name makes Dean break out into a cold sweat. "Don't know anybody by that name." He tells her, voice steady despite his heightened nerves. "And what the hell do you mean by, 'of all people''?"

Rowena ignores his lie - she'd expected as much - and chooses instead to unbalance Dean with one of her own. "I meant no offense." She gasps, eyes wide. "But you aren't exactly known for your brains." She tsks, smiles wider, "After all, isn't Sam supposed to be the bright one in the family? At least, that's what your daddy always used to say." 

The brunette standing behind her laughs into her cupped hand, but one sharp look from Rowena and she immediately sobers. "Ma'am." She says and hands Rowena an envelope. 

Rowena takes it, opens it, pulls out a stack of photographs and studies them for several seconds before gasping in shock and finally showing them to Dean.

Dean looks at the first one and his insides clench. "So I like to role-play." He snorts, unimpressed. "Big deal." 

Rowena harrumphs, flips to the next picture, and grins when Dean's breath catches.

The image is obscene, the things Dean and Alistair are doing to each other are beyond lewd. But nevertheless, Dean valiantly reins in his emotions, while his insides curdle.

"Well, according to these," Rowena says, fanning out several photos for Dean's inspection, tapping an impatient beat on an especially pornographic shot, "you did know my nephew. Quite intimately, in fact." 

Dean finally snaps. "Yeah," he spits, face beet red, a mixture of shame and fury; he's seen enough. "I knew that sick son of a bitch. And I'm glad he's dead! That degenerate-"

"Now, now, Dean," Rowena tuts, wagging her finger, "no name-calling. After all, 'pot calling the kettle black'."

"Lady, what the hell are you even talking about?"

"That a picture is worth a thousand words, Dean." Rowena waves the pictures in front of Dean's face. "You weren't forced to do anything you didn't want to. As a matter of fact, several reports state that _you_ were the one to initiate your sessions with Alastair. And judging from these," She says, pointing at an especially lascivious photograph, "I'm inclined to believe them."

"That's bull! That fucker forced-" 

"You willingly participated, Dean! Witnesses swear that you even...enjoyed yourself!"

Dean's mouth snaps shut, not because Rowena's claims are true, but because they're not entirely false. "Looks to me like your witnesses are full of crap." 

Rowena huffs, offended, "Why must you be so stubborn Dean?" She places the photos inside the envelope and hands them back to the brunette, pausing to whisper something Dean can't make out before resuming her questioning. 

"Dean, who helped you?"

"-"

"Broadcasting your location knowing fully well that my people would inform Alistair, was a terribly clever stratedgy." She hums, taps her chin contemplatively, "Too clever." 

Dean glares in reply, tight lipped, and furious.

But Rowena just tsks, unconcerned with Dean's surliness. "Who's plan was it?" She insists, steepling her hands together, "Who knew Alistair was still looking for you?"

"If you're looking for who to point your finger at, then look no further."

Rowena scoffs, laughs, scoots to the edge of her seat and whispers, "Dean, we both know it wasn't you. And despite the disturbing fact that you willingly partook in some rather questionable pastimes with my nephew, I refuse to believe that you would have voluntarily used yourself as bait." She nods to the photographs, smiles, "I know what Alistair did to you."

Everything the witch says is true, and Dean hates himself for it. "I don't really give a rat's ass what you think." He tells her, swallowing down his frustration, his horror, his humiliation. "And besides," he quips, calm on the outside while wishing he could tear off his skin and erase Alistair's foul taint from his soul, "looks to me like you already have all of the answers."

And if that's the case and Rowena knows more than she's letting on, then instead of gaining an insight into Cowley's motives, Dean is left with a slew of new questions. Starting with Castiel's claim that running into Alistair at the bar that night, was just a coincidence.

"You're right." Rowena exhales. "I do have all of the answers. But what I'm looking for is confirmation." She scoots her chair closer, it scrapes noisily on the cement floor and grates on Dean's nerves. "Dean, someone you know, someone with whom you are probably very close, also works for me."

Dean glowers at the claim, it's bullshit. 

"It's true." Rowena swears, crossing her heart. "Whoever came up with _that_ plan, knows who my people are. It's the only way he could have leaked your location to Alistair."

_'He?'_

"Dean, can't you see he used you? Lied and endangered your life without caring whether you lived or died. Why are you protecting him?" 

_'Him?'_

The bottom drops out from under Dean and the truth comes crashing in. "I...I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Tell me who betrayed you." Rowena pleads, grasping Dean by the knee. "Tell me the name of the man who killed my darling Alistair."

 _'Cas used me as bait?'_ Of course he did. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but Dean no longer doubts it. 

"Dean?"

"Listen," he croaks, though it hurts to speak, to breath, to think, "you already know the answer. You told me so, yourself. So how about you let me go, then you can go fuck yourself." 

Rowena throws her head back and cackles. "Oh Dean, such spirit. You really are your father's son." She pulls a lacy handkerchief from between her bosom, and dabs at her eyes. "Fine then." She sighs, motioning to the brunette. "Ruby." 

Ruby smirks at Dean then heads to the door, and when she opens it, Dean's heart drops. 

"Hey there Dean. Missed me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this bit. And I gotta say, it was fun writing it. But I know, I know, where's the porn? Trust me, it's coming, and you're gonna need a change of undies, 'cause it's gonna be so hot. 
> 
> But, if you're like me, and the journey (the build up) is the best part of the story, then I srsly hope you enjoyed this. And if you did (or didn't) don't be shy, drop me a line, give me a kudos, or tell me to cut to the chase and get to the good part already, it's all good. I Love you no matter what...


End file.
